


The Five Times the Rumors Weren’t True, and One Time They Were

by ThatGirlofTheTARDIS



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock drabbles, Johnlock fic, Johnlock holiday fluff, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Oblivious Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:16:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGirlofTheTARDIS/pseuds/ThatGirlofTheTARDIS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson isn't the only one who thinks they're shagging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rumor #1: They're so shagging

**Author's Note:**

> For Nina, who doesn't ship it, but will (I hope) read this anyway.

“They’re so hooking up in the kitchen right now.” Sgt. Sally Donovan said to the tired looking Detective Inspector Lestrade. “I mean,” she continued “what else would they be doing? Who even discretely leaves the best party we’ve managed to throw in months (no offense sir) just to have a nice chat?” Lestrade huffed impatiently. If this were a normal day, he would have jumped at the chance to go along with whatever scenario Sally thought of. Playing “Lets guess what the Freak and his Pet are doing” was a favorite game of hers. Just not today.

He was tired from the recent string of murders that Sherlock had only managed to solve after three straight days of running all over London. They were exhausted from their efforts in trying to catch the jewel thieves. Each time they got so close, only to be stopped at every turn. It was draining. This party was a celebration of sorts, to give his team a much needed break. However, Lestrade wasn’t really feeling in the party mood. All he wanted was to go home where he wouldn’t have to think about anything at all for at least a few hours. 

However, despite himself, he started considering Sally’s point. Sherlock and John had quietly slipped away some time ago, and there wasn’t a whole lot of interesting things to be done in the kitchen. Unless, he thought suddenly, you were Sherlock Holmes, bloody genius and madman, whose flat underwent a mini-explosion every other week. With this unsettling thought, Lestrade rushed towards the kitchen, leaving a disgruntled Sally in his wake.

“Sherlock!” He yelled, bursting into the kitchen. He was met with the sight of Sherlock Holmes, worlds only Consulting Detective, covered from head to toe in flour. “What do you want?” Asked the annoyed looking detective. Lestrade stared at him for a few moments, blinking and trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Sherlock had flour all over his precious coat, his pants, and even his hair. Sherlock looked like he was attempting to get past John, who was refusing to move. John was surprisingly flour-less, and was standing next to Sherlock with folded arms and an expression that said he was not amused with his flatmate. “For heavens sake, Sherlock. Would you please just give it a rest already?” John said, looking sternly at Sherlock. “No John! I have yet to see what consequences arise from drastically modifying the temperature of a cake already in progress. If you’ll just let me near the oven-” 

“No.” John said shortly. “I’m not letting you anywhere near the oven. First off, this isn’t even your bloody kitchen. Second, you can’t fool me with all you talk about temperature and adjustments. I know what this is really about.” Sherlock made a desperate dash for the oven, which John cut off with two quick steps and a well placed elbow. “Stop it, Sherlock. I know an attempt to poison Mycroft when I see one, and let me tell you right now, it is so not on. You can make your brother poisoned cake some other time, but not in Lestrades kitchen.” John finished with a defiant expression, daring Sherlock to argue the contrary. “But JOHN-”

Lestrade felt it was time to step in. “Okay you two, that’s enough. Sherlock, John is right. You can’t send a poisoned cake to your brother. Now why don’t you get cleaned off and head back to the party like a normal human being.” With a sigh, Lestrade continued, “Though God knows what sort of rumors are already circulating. You two have been gone for the good part of an hour.” He said, glancing at his watch. John let out a sigh. “See, Sherlock? I told you people would talk.” Sherlock gave a haughty sniff. “Of course people will talk, John. They do little else.”

With a sigh Lestrade said “Just get cleaned off. I expect you both to be on your best behavior from this point foreword. Its been a rough couple of days. My team is enjoying the party, and I don’t want Sherlock to accidentally set fire to my kitchen.” And with that, he left them to their own devices and started walking back towards the main room. A quick glance over his shoulder showed John (standing just a little too close) wiping flour off of of Sherlocks face. But Lestrade kept walking, staring straight ahead, and started heading in the direction of Sally. 

“Well? What are the Freak and John up to?” She asked him, once he reached her. Lestrade sighed. “The usual. Poison and messes and refusing to act like grown men. They also mentioned something about sending the british government a cake.” Sally raised her eyebrows at that. “Don’t ask.” He said simply. 

Just then, Sherlock and John came barging into the room. Sherlock appeared mostly flour-free, except for his hair, which still had some white in it. John looked tired, but slightly amused at the detectives vain attempt to fix his hair. Sherlock was clawing at his curls, trying to rid it of the remaining flour. Lestrade saw Johns chuckles turn quickly to protests as Sherlock shook out his hair over John, showering him with the white powder. 

‘Its going to be a long night,’ Thought Lestrade, as he tried not to laugh at the pair.


	2. Valentines Day at 221B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I thought I'd make this one a Valentines Day special!

John Watson woke up to the sound of some sort of banging coming from downstairs. He had no doubt it was Sherlock causing the noise by some means or another, the fact that today was special seemed to have no impact on him. John groaned and rolled over, clutching his head and trying to remember what exactly it was that made today special. Ah, he thought. Today was February the 14th. Valentines day. The one day a year where those certain people lucky enough to be in a relationship pretend to be extra in love. Usually, the whole concept was fine with John. But seeing as his love life was at a standstill, this years Valentines day was going to be nothing short of depressing. 

It wasn’t actually his fault that he was without a date today. The last girl he’d been with, (her name was Jenny or Jamie or something similar) had all but run screaming from his flat after seeing one of Sherlock’s experiments. Since that little incident, he hadn’t been able to find anyone else willing to go out for a drink with him. So now today was Valentine's day and he, John Three Continents Watson, was single. 

John rolled out of bed, and shrugged on his clothes. No use showering today, its not like he had any plans. Slowly, he made his way downstairs, stopping to stretch and yawn. It had been a late night of drinking with his friends at the bar, and all he could think about now was getting his morning cup of tea. Shuffling into the kitchen, he grunted out a vague “morning” in the general direction of his flatmate. Sherlock didn’t even cese in the noise making that was coming from the living room. Seriously, it sounded like he was banging pots and pans against the wall. John put the kettle on, and waited for it to boil, checking the fridge for something that might resemble breakfast, and hoping he wouldn’t stumble upon some vital organs or a foot that Sherlock was keeping next to the food. 

Fortunately, there seemed to be no fingers or other body parts inside. Actually, there didn’t seem to be anything inside. The fridge was completely empty. There wasn’t even any milk, and John was sure he’d bought some yesterday. “Sherlock!” The banging from the next room stopped. “What the bloody hell have you done with the milk? I just bought some!” Sherlock’s head poked around the corner of the doorway. “Yes, and?” he said, sounding thoroughly bored. “AND I want to know what happened to it. What happens to all the milk I buy, since I’ve definitely never seen you drink it.” Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment, before shaking his head and saying “Irrelevant. I’ve deleted it.” 

“You’ve del-- You can’t just delete what you’ve done with the milk!” John huffed and crossed his arms. Honestly. Sherlock could be completely mental. Just then, the kettle started to boil. “I want tea.” Said Sherlock, before disappearing into the living room again. The banging started up again. “I bet you do.” John muttered under his breath, before fixing his own cup. He made Sherlock one two, because if there was no food in the house, he had to have at least some substance inside of him, even if Sherlock was a complete git. 

John was in the process of bringing the two cups of tea into the living room, when he froze on the spot. He could now see what it was Sherlock was doing in here, and he immediately wished he hadn’t. There, in the middle of the bloody living room, was a 10ft, red painted, heart. And not an anatomically correct one. We’re talking full out, frilly, generic heart, with the words “Happy Valentines Day! xoxo” written on it in pink lettering. Sherlock had obviously put it together himself, as the floor around it was littered with spare pieces of wood. Sherlock himself was just setting down a hammer, having apparently nailed in the last part. The detective collapsed dramatically on the couch, and held out his hand impatiently for the tea. 

“Er...Sherlock?” John said reluctantly. It was best to approach the subject with caution, after all. “What, exactly, is this and why is it in the middle of our flat?” He carefully walked over to hand Sherlock his mug, then took his seat across from him and looked at Sherlock imploringly. 

“It’s for a case. Obviously.” Said Sherlock, putting his tea on the arm of the sofa and then completely ignoring it. 

“Er, right. Care to explain exactly what kind of case requires you to construct a massive Valentines Day heart in the center of our living room?”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “Well if you must know, I’m conducting an experiment on the supposed psychological and subconscious effects certain Valentines day decorations have on the human mind. The heart is a part of the ambiance I’m building.” 

John took a moment to process this. “Well, why can’t you study the effects, oh, say, anywhere else?! Why does it have to be our flat?” He asked. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as if this was painfully obvious. “Because, John. I detest the holiday. I refuse to go out of the flat today unless it is absolutely necessary. In fact, I need you to go get me some flowers.”

John blinked at him. “You want me to do WHAT?”

“Get me flowers! I think about three hundred and twenty five flowers should do it. Make sure to get a variety. There is shop down the street who delivers. I need you to go down there and order the flowers for me.” Just then, Sherlock’s phone beeped. Sherlock’s hand dove for the device, and he quickly became immersed in it. 

“Sherlock.” John said, but the detective didn’t so much as glance up. “Sherlock! I’m not going to go buy you three hundred and twenty five flowers! Sherlock, look at me!” But Sherlock was texting away, and only made a ‘shoo-ing’ motion at John with his hand.

John threw his hands in the air. “I give up! Okay! I’ll go order the bloody flowers. Just, don’t set fire to the flat while I’m gone.”

To this, Sherlock hummed a vague sound of affirmation. John sighed, and grabbed his coat. “Okay. I’ll be back.” He said, then walked out the door. 

He muttered about ‘unreasonable madmen’ All the way to the flower store. It really was a short walk, only five minutes up the street. He got there in no time.

The door chimed lightly as John entered the shop. The smell of flowers hit him immediately. It was very pleasant, but didn’t do much to lighten his mood. He walked up to the person behind the counter, and offered up a tight-lipped smile. The name on his tag read Carter. 

“How can I help you today, sir?” Carter asked. “I’d like to order some flowers to be delivered.” Said John, somewhat sheepishly. 

“A bit late to be getting flowers, isn’t it? But hey, I’m sure your girlfriend won’t mind. It’s the thought that counts.”

John let out a sound of protest at the world ‘girlfriend,’ but the salesperson kept talking. “So what can I get for you?”

John sighed. This was going to be tough. 

\----------

Thirty minutes later found John relaxing back at the flat with a fresh cup of tea. He had successfully (though with a fair bit of confusion) ordered all the flowers Sherlock had asked for. Speaking of Sherlock, the mad git was nowhere to be seen. John decided to finish his tea and take a shower. Worrying about what Sherlock might be up to was frankly too much work for the time being. John drained the last of his tea, then got up and headed off in the direction of the bathroom.

While he was in the shower, he thought he heard the faint sound of the doorbell buzzing. ‘Sherlock or Mrs Hudson can get that.’ He thought to himself, and started the careful process of putting product in his hair. 

Five minutes later, John was all dried off and looking around for his bathrobe. All he could find was Sherlock ratty old light purple one. The mad detective was fond of lying around in it for days on end, never bothering to get off the sodding couch and put some actual clothes on.

John heaved a sigh. Sherlocks bathrobe would have to do for the moment. He put it on, and stepped out of the bathroom into the chilly hallway. He was about to head up to his room when a crash from the direction of the kitchen made him pause. He listened for a second, but now the flat was suspiciously silent. “Sherlock?” He called. 

No answer. Yes, that was definitely a bad sign. John hurried into the living room, calling out “Sherlock!” in a more worried tone. When he reached the living room, what he saw was enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

Flowers. There were flowers covering every inch of the room. They were haphazardly lying all over the floor, covering the couch and chairs from head to toe, and John couldn’t even see the surface of the mantle. That explained who was at the door. John wasn’t expecting them to get here so quickly. The giant heart that had previously stood in their living room was nowhere to be found.

He sighed, and rubbed his hand over his eyes. The sight of all the different colors was almost overwhelming… But not as bad as the smell. It smelled like someone had spilled a whole truck full of perfume right on top of the flat. Just then, the flowers currently covering the couch rustled. 

“Sherlock?” John called again, this time with much more caution. He started the slow process of making his way towards the couch, dodging furniture and navigating the haphazard flowers. Finally, he got to the couch. He peered at it closely, and could now make out the faint shape of a Sherlock shaped mound, completely buried in bright pink roses. 

“John.” Came the voice from beneath the flowers. “Jesus Christ Sherlock, why are you under there?” John asked, while cautiously trying to get closer.

“It’s an experiment.” Said the unphased detective. “Of course it bloody is. Look Sherlock, exactly how long were you planning on leaving our flat looking like some sort of wild garden?” Asked John, who had finally managed to stand right next to the couch. He peered down at Sherlock. He could just make out his blue eyes from underneath all the flowers. 

“Well--” Sherlock started to explain, but was cut off by the sound of a knock on their door. John jumped, startled, and tripped over the flowers at his feat. He came crashing down onto the couch the currently held the mad genius Sherlock Holmes, and about one hundred flowers. He landed on Sherlock with an “ooff!” Flowers went flying. Sherlock let out a grunt as John elbow connected with his stomach. John flailed around, trying to get up, but only managed to get his legs tangled up with Sherlocks impossibly long ones. The purple bathrobe john was wearing was getting all tangled up in the process, and John felt his face flush at the contact. He tried propping himself up on his elbow, but that only managed to bring him face to face with Sherlock. John let out a tiny gasp. He was inches away from Sherlocks face, their breath was mingling together. Sherlock eyes bore into his, and John found himself unable to look away.

Which is how Mrs. Hudson found them as she walked through the door with a “yoo hoo boys, I was wondering why--” She cut off when she saw their position. John and Sherlock, lying together on a couch, completely surrounded by flowers of every kind. To make matters worse, John’s face was bright red and he was wearing nothing but Sherlock’s bathrobe. Mrs. Hudson blushed pink, and started to excuse herself, saying that she just came to ask about the smell. John made a desperate attempt to untangle himself. “Ah, Mrs. Hudson. It’s not what you think.” 

“No no, I’ll leave you boys to it.” She said, backing towards the door. “Don’t let me spoil your fun. The flowers are a grand idea. Give me a ring if you need anything, and have a happy Valentines day.” She left with a wink. John groaned at the implication, and continued trying to get off the couch. However, all he managed to do was tumble off Sherlock and onto the floor. 

“John?” Sherlock asked, peering over the side of the couch at his flatmate. John closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. “I think I’ll just stay here for the rest of my life.” He told his flatmate. Sherlock snorted, and mumbled something that sounded like “Now who's being dramatic.” 

John just sighed, and resigned himself to the fate of knowing that there was no way to convince Mrs. Hudson it was a misunderstanding, and that half of the Yard would probably know by Monday. 

Oh well. There was nothing John could do about it, so he might as well accept it. “Happy Valentines Day, Sherlock.” He said, eyes still closed. There was a pause.

“Happy Valentines Day, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's painfully obvious that I'm an American. Feel free to point out any mistakes! :)


End file.
